


"Make me art, Lawrence."

by Pinkviscera



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Death, Drabble, F/M, Fluffy Snuff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Implied Necrophilia, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mild Gore, Multi, Murder, Other, Reader Death, Reader-Insert, Suicidal Reader, Yeah i think ive covered my ass, btd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 00:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14225367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkviscera/pseuds/Pinkviscera
Summary: You don't have to ask him twice.In the woods, in his arms, you get to say goodbye to it all and you get to feel his real love for the first and last time.





	"Make me art, Lawrence."

**Author's Note:**

> Either you did it or he did have it either way, but have fun dying in the decaying husband's arms yall

It feels cold. The sun rises on your face, bathing you in light, but it still feels so cold. Your tongue is heavy, numb, but you manage to wet your lips. They feel so dry. Lawrence watches you. His eyes are soft as you stare up at him. You’re resting in his lap as you switch between gazing at his face and the sunrise, one as beautiful as the other; perhaps because you know you won’t see either of them again. Despite the sunrise the trees cover most of the brightness, beams of light breaking through the leaves, just enough for you to see the morning. It’s enough.

“You’re beautiful.” He breathes, so quietly you hardly catch it.

 Your breathing is getting harder, desperate. It hurts to try drag in air, but you want just a few more minutes, only a few more. You tilt your head back on his thigh to watch him stare down at you. His fingers are gentle on your face. You can hardly find the strength to speak any more, breathing is hard enough, it takes too much to try form words too.

“I love you like this.” He dares not be louder than a whisper. Only the earth and sky can hear you both but he still remains quiet, even here, and now. You suppose you can’t hold it against him. It’s not like you wanted a show or spectacle, not like you’d even be able to watch it with your eyelids falling closed so often. Stay awake. A little bit longer. Come on. Blonde lashes catch in the light falling down on both of you and your attention goes to them as he blinks slowly. He sure as hell isn't an angel, but it's not like you'd have settled for anyone else. He’s so handsome. So good. Good for giving you this; giving you what you asked for, letting you have this one last thing.

“Thank...you.” Speaking hurts too.

 Lawrence’s eyebrows crease as he hushes you, softly, moving his hand to ghost over your lips, they’re cold to the touch. It warms his insides thinking about how cold the rest of you will soon be. He doesn't need your words, no matter how flustered they make him. It’d be wrong to leave you, to not let you be even more beautiful, to not let you become art; his art. You'd asked so nicely, _you'd asked_ , how could he refuse you?

 You see the reflection of the light in his eyes, black pupils blown wide, so bright, and, you think to yourself, that that’s enough for you. The tender touch of his fingers on your face fill you with as much warmth as you’ll ever feel again. Smiling under the touch, you raise your hands from your sides, straining against the heaviness of your body, the painful cold feeling telling you to just let go, but not yet. Blood drips onto your chest, neck, and face from the slices in the flesh. It feels warm. It’s not so bad. You cradle his face in your hands. Rough stubble brushes you as your thumb grazes his jaw. He looks shocked before relaxing, the cold flesh is a safe comfort for him. He closes his eyes to lean into the cooling touch. He whispers another ‘I love you’ into your palm. His breath is hot against your skin and it shocks you; he burns just like the sun. You know he’ll say he loves you again, and again, and again, until the sun refuses to rise. When you're just bones and dust he’ll still hold you and whisper ‘I love you’ and that really is more than enough for you. You feel the scrape of his stubble more than the pressure of his lips to yours. Its painful, but it proves that he’s real, that this was all real. As he pulls back, hot breath on your mouth, you exhale a quiet rasp of 'love you' before your heart stops, before your blood soaks into the earth, you let yourself say it aloud, let him have what he needs. It's not too bad, after-all, nothing hurts anymore.

Lawrence lets himself hover over your corpse, breathing deeper, and faster. He moves to catch your hands to stop them leaving his face as you go limp. Blood smudges on his pale skin, but he just thinks its beautiful. Nuzzling his cheek into your cold flesh he breathes a sigh of adoration, eyes focused on your absent gaze. He knows he’ll never tire of you. You loved him for the rest of your life, so sweet and honest. He gave you all you wanted. Now you’d give him everything he wanted.

The knife suits your paling complexion, he thinks with a satisfied smile.


End file.
